


Racing the Wind

by Siobhan_Schuyler, trycatpennies



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-10
Updated: 2011-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:55:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siobhan_Schuyler/pseuds/Siobhan_Schuyler, https://archiveofourown.org/users/trycatpennies/pseuds/trycatpennies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody survives in the desert very long.</p><p>There's still two rounds in his shotgun, and he chambers them, planting his feet. He's been walking for days, bruised up and beaten half dead.</p><p>They'd given him his exit from the gang in kicks to the ribs and a concussion, a black eye and a few scrapes. He's healing up, now. Well, sort of. Not exactly.</p><p>He blinks through his hair, and tosses it back, eying the dust covered Camaro as it pulls up alongside him. It's worse for wear, dark against the midday glare of the desert. The windows are mostly blacked and Tommy can't see inside until it's even with him, the passenger door thrown open.</p><p>Even then, there's nothing but a shadow of a figure and a few words over the rumble of the idling engine.</p><p>"Get in the car."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Racing the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: underaged Tommy, implied past dub-con.  
> NOTES: hello_mcee and i wrote this as not!fic, and i made it into real fic. at least half of this is hers, i just wrote it into a story. this is a killjoys!au. don't know what the killjoys are? check it out somewhere!

Nobody survives in the desert very long.

There's still two rounds in his shotgun, and he chambers them, planting his feet. He's been walking for days, bruised up and beaten half dead.

They'd given him his exit from the gang in kicks to the ribs and a concussion, a black eye and a few scrapes. He's healing up, now. Well, sort of. Not exactly.

He blinks through his hair, and tosses it back, eying the dust covered Camaro as it pulls up alongside him. It's worse for wear, dark against the midday glare of the desert. The windows are mostly blacked and Tommy can't see inside until it's even with him, the passenger door thrown open.

Even then, there's nothing but a shadow of a figure and a few words over the rumble of the idling engine.

"Get in the car."

Tommy weighs his options, desert for miles all around, and climbs in, shotgun leveled at the guy's face now that he can see him. Tall, is Tommy's first thought which is odd, considering the guy is sitting down. But the guys’s legs are long, under the steering wheel, and he’s wearing dark jeans, dusted with desert dirt and something darker. He's wearing sunglasses, black bandana pulled down around his neck and a black hair stuck up in all directions. He's got a gash on one side of his face, a few days healed.

"Thanks," Tommy says, slamming the door.

"Relax kid," the guy answers. "We're just going home."

He guns it, peeling off and speeding down the road, both hands on the wheel.

-

Tommy lets Adam coax most of his story out. He'd had a crew, there was a disagreement of values, so to speak, and Tommy smirks when Adam laughs at his careful wording. Between stories, Adam loads him up with water, three flasks worth and Tommy starts working through them while they talk, Tommy's gun still level with Adam's face and Adam's gun tucked at his side, nearly inaccessible.

Tommy gets out of Adam that his gang just joined another. Strength in numbers, something like that. Tommy gets the impression it wasn’t as easy as all that. There are scars on Adam’s face, one reached down into the collar of his shirt, snaking it’s way across Adam’s collarbone.

"There's room for another, if you're a good shot," Adam says, glancing at him sideways.

Tommy raises an eyebrow and touches the barrel of his shotgun, carefully. Appraisingly.

"She's my girl," he says, quietly. He's willing to give this Adam guy a chance, if- "Are you the good guys?"

"Define good," Adam says, carefully. His eyes are glued to the road now and Tommy can see he's white-knuckled, grasping the steering wheel. When Tommy doesn't answer, Adam nods. "Yeah. You could say we're the good guys."

-

It's another two hours to home, spent mostly in silence.

Tommy gets out of the car, gingerly, cradling the gun on his hip and looking around.

It's a small village, bigger than he'd been expecting, more people. More bustling and it makes Tommy antsy. People are waving at Adam as he gets out and Tommy watches how he interacts, friendly and warm, seemingly unguarded.

Tommy buckles at the knees, suddenly, groaning quietly before he can straighten back up from the shooting pain across his ribcage.

Adam's there in a second, attention on Tommy, hand on his elbow, supporting Tommy’s weight.

"Hey, hey, you ok? Fuck, you're really hurt," he says, low.

"You have shit to do," Tommy says, breathing harsh. It's clear Adam's in command, important; that he holds some sort of position of power. Tommy's new, he doesn't want to fuck with shit. Upset the order or whatever. That’s how you get yourself killed.

"Yeah, I do," Adam answers.

-

He helps Tommy to a back room, inside one of the bigger houses. The stairs prove a little tricky and by the time Adam sits him on the edge of his cot, Tommy's broken into a feverish sweat. He's been walking around with his injuries for three days, sun-poisoned, dehydrated to fuck.

"Don't move," Adam tells him, and leaves.

A gang this size has medics. Maybe even a legit doctor. Adam doesn't have to patch up other people, probably rarely bothers. Shouldn't bother now. Tommy breathes as deeply as he can, arm across his ribs, and works on stripping off his shirt, slowly.

Adam does come back, though, a few minutes later with a small duffel bag, a bottle water and holy fucking shit a bottle of Jack. Tommy almost cries. Adam grabs an empty milk crate and flips it over, sitting in front of Tommy and handing him the booze.

"Fuck," Adam says, gently touching the huge black and blue and quickly yellow-greening bruises across Tommy's chest. "They beat you to shit."

Tommy gulps down the Jack like he does the water and then winces, trying to smile.

"Good bye and fuck you," he says, attempting a shrug. "Easy to get in, hard to get out."

-

Between the two of them they manage to get Tommy bandaged up, washed and more than a little drunk.

"Where, uh," Tommy starts and he licks his lips, forcing his eyes to focus. "Where do I sleep?"

"For now?" Adam says, and he screws the lid back on the bottle of Jack and sets it aside, smiling gently. "Here. Cam's on guard. Throw up in my bed and I'll shoot you myself."

"Thanks," Tommy says, and Adam shrugs. "No, um. Thanks for finding me."

"You're welcome," Adam says, and to Tommy, he sounds surprised.

-

When Adam comes back, Tommy's eating. It's just a chunk of toast Cam handed him, and some water. He feels somewhere between leaden and a million bucks, just woken up but so well rested it's like he's been reborn. He's hanging out in boxers, sitting on the edge of the bed, ignoring morning wood in favour of a rumbling stomach.

"About time, kid. Jeez," Adam says walking in, and Tommy grins, swallowing the last of the toast.

"How long was I out?" he asks, suddenly aware of how mostly naked and half hard he is. Adam's hot, obviously. Tommy'd been a little too...injured, to notice before. And to be honest, he doesn't even know if Adam swings his way. Don't look a gay horse in the gift mouth, or whatever.

Adam doesn't seem to notice Tommy's sudden case of awkward and sits on the bed next to him, handing him a slim package, wrapped in brown paper.

"Day and a half. Here, got you a welcome present," Adam says.

"Shit," Tommy says, as he tears off the packaging. It's a gun, the shape gave it away, but. Tommy’s had guns, his sawed off is his baby, he’ll tell anyone that. The gun Adam’s handed him is standard issue Drac, but modified. And modded by someone who knows what their doing. Not to mention. Wow. There's an artist in this gang, and Tommy appreciates the aesthetic as much as the gesture. "I don't know what to say."

"Say that you'll stay, and fight with us. For us. That's all we ask of anyone."

Tommy sets the gun aside, treating it like it's fragile, breakable. Precious. (And it is, precious to him already.)

The last gift he’d gotten was from his Mom, easily near a dozen years ago, wrapped in newspapers. Tommy doesn’t remember the headlines, but he figures they were warnings, signs they’d all ignored.

Look where it’s gotten them, ignoring what’s there, ignoring the signs.

He licks his lips and moves, carefully but quickly, so he's straddling Adam, one knee on either side of Adam's hips, his hands on Adam's shoulders.

It's forward, it's fucking insane, but Tommy figures the worst that can happen is that he gets a few more bruises.

Actually, that's the best case scenario, too.

Adam's hands settle on Tommy' hips, carefully avoiding any of the bruising, and Tommy shivers when Adam strokes the unmarked skin, softly.

"Is that a yes?" Adam grins at him. Tommy nods and leans in, kissing Adam. He has a feeling this will be the one and only time he'll ever make the first move, now that he's done it. Adam seems like the take charge kind of guy.

Adam kisses him back, deep but careful, and Tommy figures he's being mindful of the busted up lip. Adam's hands are cradling his bruised up face, and he breathes into Tommy's mouth. Tommy can feel Adam's shoulder relax. Adam pushes Tommy, laying him down gently on the bed, pinning him without putting pressure on his injured ribs. Tommy can feel Adam's dick through his jeans, but Adam just bites into the soft swell of Tommy's lips.

Tommy groans, hitching his hips up into Adam's. Adam's treating him like he's fragile, and Tommy wants it to hurt, wants it just a little bit painful. He just doesn't know how to ask for it, especially when Adam's being so obviously gentle and careful with him.

Tommy's always been a button pusher, though. Lucky for him.

He leans up, kisses Adam again, this time a little harder, biting sharply at Adam's lower lip.

Adam snickers then pulls back; Tommy makes a pleased noise when Adam pins his wrists, tightly against the creaking mattress.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Adam says, and Tommy frowns, looking mildly annoyed. "Not yet. I'm not kidding when I say we all need you healthy. Once you're back on your feet, I promise I'll-" Adam breaks off, and Tommy gets the feeling he's not in the habit of promising anything, let alone to strays he's picked up in the zones. "I just. I promise, ok?"

Tommy nods, taking the promise for exactly what it's worth. Which is a lot. Tommy's bitter, jaded and cynical at the age of fourteen, but he's still got some leftover blind childhood trust, and he's pinned it all on Adam the second Adam'd opened the door and told him he was taking him home. Tommy believes him, and settles back on the cot, looking up at Adam and biting his lower lip, already swollen from Adam's worrying kisses.

"God, you're pretty," Adam breathes, and there's a tone of disbelief that makes Tommy blush, wonder how long it’s been since Adam- Adam leans down and mouths at Tommy's neck, the smooth, slightly dusty skin there. He pushes his dick into Tommy's thigh, and the bulge in Tommy's boxers presses into Adam's stomach.

Tommy's skin hungry, Adam's still overdressed, and Tommy flexes his hands in Adam's grip, wanting to move them, to touch. He's dizzy with this, with how Adam's reacting, how Adam's giving himself over. Adam lets go of his wrists to palm at Tommy's ass, his thigh, push his own thigh up between Tommy's, mouth crushing his again, everything quick and gentle.

Tommy slides his hands under Adam's thin shirt, scratching at the hot skin underneath, moaning into the kiss. He bucks up against Adam's thigh, too turned on to be ashamed of practically rubbing himself off against Adam, who scrambles to get a hand between them and into Tommy's boxers.

Tommy thrusts up, shudders and groans when Adam wraps a hand around his dick, the angle off because Adam's mouth is back against his.

"Come in my hand," Adam says, and Tommy makes a sharp noise and comes when Adam bites into his lip, hand tight on his dick. He's so ok with being fucking easy as hell when Adam's looking down at him like that. It takes him a moment to come down, and Adam nuzzles at his face, murmurs 'good boy' into his temple, sticky hand moving slowly against Tommy's dick, soothingly, before palming his hip instead, still inside the threadbare boxers stuck to Tommy's sweaty skin.

Tommy's still panting, trying to catch his breath, feeling more than a little strung out. He's had sex before, but he's never done this, whatever this is. He's not sure what it means-it's something else, something larger than what he's had before. The brush of Adam's lips against his temple, the soft words in his ear make him shiver, make his whole body tingle.

He gasps when Adam moves his hand, rolling off him and splaying out invitingly, without touching his fly.

"Suck me off," Adam says. It sounds almost like a suggestion, coaxing, but there's strength underneath it, a hint of command that Adam sounds comfortable with, and it makes something settle at the base of Tommy’s spine, a tense feeling, hot and restless.

Tommy struggles up, weak limbed and fucked out. He rolls over and crawls between Adam's legs, gasping a little when his cooling come slips down his thighs. He fumbles at Adam's fly, cursing under his breath. Adam's watching him, and Tommy can hear him panting. When Tommy licks his lips, Adam lets out a small moan and threads fingers into Tommy's hair, tugging.

Tommy grunts, pushing up into Adam's hands, and manages to yank Adam's fly down, his dick popping free, hard and red and wet at the tip.

"Fuck, yes," Tommy says. He's never gotten to do this enough, take his time, do it right. He must give something away, because Adam tugs his head up a little bit so Tommy's eyes are meeting his.

"You've done this?"

"Some," Tommy answers, palming Adam's dick. He tugs at the waistband of Adam's jeans, working them down to his thighs, at least. "Not much,"

"Who? How? Tell me," Adam says, and Tommy wraps a hand around the base of Adam's dick before he answers.

"Three times, three people," he says, and he licks the head. "A friend, when I was like, twelve. The head of the gang I was in, before I left. And." He breaks off, flushing, and Adam's hands loosen in his hair, caressing, petting. "A security officer. At BL/ind. I didn't. It was the only way out."

Adam tenses, and Tommy swallows, keeping eye contact, waiting. He hadn't had a choice. He's small, he's. Tommy knows most of the people here probably fought their way out, or something. He hadn't had those choices.

"You know you have options here, right?" Adam's cupping the back of Tommy's head, nails scratching gently at his scalp.

Tommy knows. He's not resorting to anything, he's not selling himself for freedom, or membership, or. Anything. He wants this, hopefully Adam wants it as much. He nods and looks up at Adam, pushing into the fingers touching his head.

"Can I-" he starts, breath hot against Adam's dick. Adam's fingers tighten in his hair, just a little, and then loosen. His dick is hard, leaking against Tommy's lip and Tommy's fucking done for.

"Can you what, baby boy?"

"God, Adam, let me have your dick, please," Tommy begs. He's not above begging, now that they both know what the score is, that they’re even in, this, in wanting.

"Open up," Adam says gruffly. He palms his dick before popping the head into Tommy's waiting mouth. Adam's hips hitch, and Tommy groans around the dick stretching his mouth, obscene. He breathes in deep through his nose, closing his eyes. All he can taste and smell is Adam, and he can't help but reach down, carefully rub at the wet front of his boxers, sticky and cool with drying come. He shivers and drops his head, taking Adam deeper.

-

Tommy's on watch, six hours into a shift. It's almost the end, he's pretty sure. They change the lengths of watches to throw off any attackers, so really he's just waiting for a replacement. He's pretty sure LP's got next watch.

He takes another sip of water and looks back through his sniper scope, a glimpse of dust and smoke catching his eye. The car comes into view and the license plate makes Tommy grin.

Adam's back.

As if on cue LP appears behind him, and Tommy safeties his gun, stands up and highfives LP, tagging him in.

He staggers down the hill, kicking up dust, rushing a little. He's glad for the goggles planted firmly on his face, because he's suffered enough dust and sand in his eyes over the past year.

He checks his watch gun in with Allie, fighting to keep from fidgeting when he hears the car idle and then stop at the garage a few dozen feet away, its engine ticking down slowly. Tommy tries to time his breath with it, calm himself down.

He knows when Adam spots him, squinting through his sunglasses, climbing out of the car. Tommy grins as he heads over and then bats at Adam's hands when Adam ruffles Tommy's dirty hair, shaking dust out of the long front lock before wrapping his hand around the back of Tommy's neck to make him fall into step as they walk back to the compound.

"Hey babyboy. You off duty?"

"Just," Tommy says, and he slides his goggles off, tapping sand out of them. "Saw you coming."

He's already zinging. He's been here four months, and it's the best he's felt, the most at home since he left his Momma for the City, and Adam brings it all back every time he shows up.

Adam pulls him closer by the crook of this elbow around Tommy's neck, and Tommy has to quicken his step to keep up.

"Wanna go see Bob with me? I need a new shotgun."

Tommy fucking loves Bob. There's dogs and guns and some new wicked piece of technology and he always has the best music from the City.

"Hell yeah," Tommy says, grinning. "How was the trip, boss man?"

"Enh," Adam shrugs. "Wasted some gas and a perfectly good sawed-off. Just another day on the job." He winks at Tommy and pulls him towards the mess hall. "I'm starving. Let's grab something to eat."

He still feels something twinge in his chest when Adam winks, but he clamps down on it and follows.

Tommy's not laying any claims. He's fucked Adam a few times, and there's something there, between them. But it's not safe for either of them to have that much attachment to anything, let alone Adam toward him. Adam's something bigger to this place than just a sniper, a watchman.

Tommy’s stomach rumbles. Watch food is terrible, dry protein rations and water. They push open the large wooden doors, into the cool air of the mess, sealed against dust and dirt and the air tastes stale, like one big rebreather. He watches Adam take his pick of food, a couple of protein bars and a handful of dried something that Tommy avoids like the plague.

"Taylor punched Frank," Tommy says, and he grabs and apple, grown in the compound. He takes another for Bob. Adam snorts, and hops down the stairs out of the mess hall. "Frank totally deserved it, though."

"I bet. Though I'm glad Tay's letting off some steam. He's been antsy, I think."

"We all have," Tommy says, tries to say it lightly. Adam won't let Tommy fight, not really. Taking shifts on watch, sure, but the most trouble he's seen is Frankie antagonizing the shit out of, well, everyone.

Tommy ends up tucked back under Adam's arm, and Tommy knows Adam feels bad when they're all stuck like this, nothing to do. When the acid rain or S/C/A/R/E/C/R/OW’s got Dracs patrolling and the risks outweigh the benefits of jobs and deliveries.

"What did Frank do?" Adam asks, and Tommy snickers.

"Stole TayTay's new bootlaces. Gerard was pretty pissed too, but Taylor was crazy," Tommy grins, remembering, and nuzzles a little against Adam's arm.

The gesture makes Adam sigh, and when Tommy looks up, Adam looks exhausted, like he's overthought everything he's thinking (which he does constantly) and he's ready to crash.

"Wanna come home with me, after?" Adam says, and he nuzzles at Tommy's dirty hair.

Adam smells like dust and dirt and sweat and something Tommy can't put his finger on. It's intoxicating and Tommy wants to bury himself in it.

"I missed you," Tommy says, quietly.

"That wasn’t an answer,” Adam says, and there's a quiet smile into Tommy's hair that doesn't go unnoticed.

"It's always a yes," Tommy says, somewhat cryptically. Tommy knows there are others. Gerard, sometimes. But Gerard and Adam fight like two alphas inevitably will. There's no rest when both of you are trying to keep an entire city running. And Tommy's learned that sometimes Adam just needs someone close.

He'd never say no to Adam, can't say no to Adam. Even if he's always wanting more. More than Adam's ever even hinted at giving, wanting to give. He figures Adam'd call it a crush, but he can't fucking help it, ok.

So, he takes what he can get.

-

They pick up a couple of reclaimed shotguns at Bob's and a big motherfucking laser rifle for Tommy, who'd been eyeing it in Bob's kitchen, even after Bob threatened to chop his hand off if he laid a finger on it. Adam can talk Bob into pretty much anything.

There's hours still till dinnertime, and they walk back to Adam's, guns on their backs. The quarters aren't much, and they haven't changed since Tommy spent his first night there, asleep, and the second, learning Adam’s scars. Cam nods at them when they pass her at her post. Tommy's learned that Adam never asked for the guard. The protection just started happening. He gets why, now.

Tommy stays at the door as Adam walks straight into the bedroom with a pleased sigh, shrugging out of his holster and leather and damp, filthy cotton. Tommy watches him take off the brace of necklaces around his neck, and the rings off his fingers.

"C'mere," Adam says to Tommy, quietly, his back still to him. Adam's toeing off his boots, undoing his pants. Tommy sets his shotgun down and clicks the lock closed on Adam's door.

Tommy unzips his own work boots and kicks them off, socks long ago given up. He worms his way out of his skinny jeans, and then tugs off his shirt, tossing it aside before moving up close to Adam.

Adam's hands trail across Tommy's skin, coming up his arm and shoulder and neck to fist into Tommy's hair, pulling Tommy's head back, revealing the dirty curve of his throat, the thick bob of his adam's apple when he swallows. It makes Tommy weak. He can't hide how he's fucking hard already, not when he's naked like this, with Adam's hand in his hair and Adam's eyes fucking taking him apart already. He swallows again and lets his eyes drift shut, shoulders relaxing under the tension of Adam's hands on him.

He's not sure what he's getting, but he's looking so, so forward to it.

"Sit," Adam says, and Tommy's getting gently pushed to sit on the edge of the bed. The thin mattress creaks under even Tommy's slight weight and the blanket scratches against his bare skin. Tommy gasps when Adam sinks to his knees in front of him and pushes at him. Tommy lies back and Adam settles between his legs and swallows Tommy's dick. Tommy groans, and reaches for Adam's hair, threads his hands through it and lets Adam go for it. There's not much of this in his day to day. Not the dick sucking either, obviously, but Tommy always forgets how much he misses the slightest human contact. And man, is he getting his fill.

"Adam," he whines, and he tightens his hands, tugging.

"Watch your hands, kid," Adam says, and he moves fast, Tommy's hands pinned to the mattress as Adam pulls off to speak, voice dangerous. He leans down and sucks at Tommy's balls.

It's going to be like that, then. Good, Tommy could use the ache for a few days.

"S-sorry," Tommy stutters out, and he squirms, fighting the grip a little. Just a little. Adam's mouth is hot and wet and whenever he gets Tommy somewhere new it makes Tommy gasp. Adam's grip tightens and he tongues Tommy's balls, his asshole. He doesn't push in, though, and Tommy squirms a little more.

"Don't come," Adam says, and suddenly Tommy's hands are free and Adam's pulling away. It's the hardest thing for Tommy to do, not to come, and he knows it gets Adam off, that he's so easy for it.

(After they'd first fucked, Adam walking naked around his room and Tommy lying on his cot, smoking, Adam asked how old Tommy was; Tommy hadn't hesitated when he said fifteen, which is why Adam believed him.

“This okay?" Adam’d asked

Tommy was still loose and slick from Adam's dick, his hips mottled by tiny bruises emerging, fingertip-shaped. Less than twenty four hours after Adam had picked Tommy up off the side of the road.

Tommy shrugged.

Other things mattered more nowadays. Everyone was busy rewriting the rules.)

Adam makes Tommy turn over, on all fours, and Tommy feels the bed dip when Adam climbs back on, and forces his dick in, rough with nothing but spit and precome, fingers tight on Tommy's hips. Tommy cries out, head dropping to the mattress, fisting his hands in the threadbare blanket, rough against his knees. It hurts (fucking hell, it hurts) but it's the ache and burn and hurt that he's been craving and he arches his back, pushing into it.

When Adam's balls deep he sits back on his heels, dragging Tommy up with him to sit on his dick, in his lap, forces his dick in just that extra bit deeper. Adam's hands slide over Tommy's chest, and Tommy stutters out Adam's name when his hands wraps around Tommy's dick, Adam's hips flexing against his ass.

"Fuck," Tommy manages, letting his head tilt back onto Adam's shoulder. He grips at Adam's thighs, digging his nails in a little when Adam thrusts up, sharp. Adam's always known exactly how to take Tommy apart, whether gentle and loving or alpha fucking as stress release, and Tommy's fucking dying for it now. He gasps, breath hitching. "You said not to come.”

"I meant it," Adam grits out, fucking into Tommy harder. He grabs hold of the headboard one handed, his other hand going around Tommy's waist, tightly. It's a million degrees in the afternoon sun through Adam’s window, and they're sweating already, skin damp and slippery. Tommy's grunting each time Adam thrusts up into him, and he blinks sweat out of his eyes, pushing his hair out of his face with one hand, the other still bracing on Adam's thigh.

"Gonna make it worth my while?" Tommy says, and he's waiting for Adam to smack the smirk off his face, but Adam bites gently at his earlobe instead, panting.

"Don't I always?"

Tommy grinds back down against Adam's dick instead of answering. He's small enough to fit in Adam's lap, light enough for Adam to manhandle and still tight enough that he'll be feeling this for days. He arches, twisting his hips, silently begging for deeper. Adam lets go of the headboard and palms the back of Tommy's neck, bending him forward. Tommy knows Adam's watching, looking down at his own dick stretching out Tommy's hole, slick and raw. Adam shoves into him again, and Tommy shivers and drops his head, supported only by both of Adam's hands on his shoulders. The angle is perfect, hard and deep.

"Adam, c'mon," Tommy begs, voice hoarse. Tommy's head is spinning and he's got his eyes open but he's not seeing a thing; just feeling the drag of Adam's dick in and out, Adam's hands burning into his shoulders. He's addicted to this, addicted to how Adam encompasses him, and makes him lose it. Lose himself, everything he's been worrying about, shutting his brain off in the best fucking way.

"I'll get you there, baby," Adam says, and he takes Tommy's hands and wraps them around the headboard before wrapping his own tightly around Tommy's hips. "Hold on.”

Tommy clutches at the headboard and grunts each time Adam pushes up into him, his own dick so hard it's curving up towards his stomach. Adam's dick is pushing into his prostate every single fucking stroke and it's making precome pool on the bedsheet under Tommy's dick.

"More," Tommy says, and it's fucked out, raw. He ends up flattened against the wall, Adam's hand shoved between Tommy's body and the headboard, wrapped around his dick, grip hard.

"You wanna come?"

"Adam please, fuck, please, for you, please let me, fuck," Tommy's babbling, broken sentences punctuated by moans and the soft thunk of his head against the wall when Adam fucks up into him. Adam cups Tommy's balls, squeezing, then slicks his hand back over the head of Tommy's dick.

"Come for me, right here. I want to taste you, then come in your ass. C'mon kid, for me," Adam says, and it's the 'kid' that does it more than anything, the same word that makes his toes curl when Adam uses it in public, more of a term of endearment than anything Adam's ever said to him. It means too much and Tommy comes into Adam's hand, watching the way Adam's fingers look against his dick, black nails and rough skin. Adam's breath is rough in Tommy's ear, one hand covered in come, the other squeezing Tommy's against the wall, and he growls against Tommy's neck.

"Mine," he says, fucking into him and then pausing, balls deep. Tommy can hear the pulse racing in his ears, his own fucked out breathing and he's got tears at the edge of his vision, blurring it out, overwhelmed and over-sensitive, Adam's dick pulsing inside him and Adam's hand around his. He nods, swallows, hard.

"Adam, always," he whines, low and rough. He watches Adam bring his sticky fingers to his own mouth and lick before he's got them pressed up against Tommy's lips. He opens his mouth and takes three fingers in, sucks his own come off Adam's fingers. Adam pulls halfway out and then back in, hard, and comes when Tommy grazes his teeth against the pads of Adam's fingers.

"Fuck, Tommy," Adam moans and he turns his face into Tommy's hair, his own voice broken. Tommy breathes in, shaky.

He takes anything Adam throws at him. He takes welts and bruises and scrapes and bite marks. He takes them because he likes them, loves them, but also because of the payoff. Adam's always vulnerable, always taken apart just enough himself, when he comes. It's that moment that keeps Tommy turned onto Adam forever. That's why he's in love. This exact moment.

They don't move for a couple seconds, Tommy listening to Adam breath hard against his neck, Tommy breathing hard with Adam's spit-sticky hand on his chest, Adam's hips flush to his ass. Eventually Adam slumps down, and Tommy goes with him, into his lap, sighing when Adam tugs him closer, arms around him, face in his neck. Tommy's breathing a little slower, and he's starting to feel the ache in his thighs and shoulders. He has his chin hooked over Adam's arms, his own hands palming Adam's biceps, sweaty and hot. Adam eventually disentangles them, easing out of Tommy with a shiver from both of them. Adam doesn't quite let go as they lie down, curled in.

And Adam's quiet. A different quiet than normal. Instead of a mile-a-minute, trapped inside his own head quiet, he's just. Quiet.

"You're tired," Tommy says, loathe to spoil the moment, but knowing it's one of the only times he'll get Adam so unguarded. He rolls around to face him, nuzzles up while he can. He can see the tiredness in Adam's eyes, though. He kisses Adam again, until Adam pulls back to speak.

"Exhausted," Adam confesses, and Tommy knows it's been ages since Adam's had a full night's sleep. Forget eight hour nights; Adam's lucky if he can catch a nap.

"It's only four," Tommy says. "Three hours till dinner, and nobody knows you're in yet. Cam's here. Get some sleep," he says, kissing under Adam's jaw.

"Stay," Adam says, and Tommy can see his eyes drifting shut in spite of himself, Adam's tired smile while his hands pull Tommy closer. Tommy doesn’t answer, smiles instead.

As if he'd go anywhere.


End file.
